


For the Best

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Arrow of Carnations [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: When Josephine gives him a surprise invitation, he is at a loss for words.





	For the Best

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for a tumblr prompt -- "Sunset."

The library is dark and empty. With the loss of light from the setting sun, those who usually occupy it have vacated the room for better, warmer locations.

Even Dorian is gone, though he has left chaos in his wake. Solas wrinkles his nose as he passes Dorian’s nook—books and paper everywhere. He stoops, picking up a book that has been thrown, face down, pages splayed. He clicks his tongue in disapproval as he smooths out the bent pages and carefully return the book to its shelf.

He sighs and treads lightly as he makes his way round the library. He summons veilfire to his hand to light his way. The brackets which should house torches sit empty. Despite arriving in Skyhold a month ago, no one has seen fit to replace them.

The library is impressive. Only a fifth of the books here belong to the Inquisition, remains of the Haven library and whatever the civilians could save. The rest have been left here by the many diverse groups who held Skyhold since its initial abandonment. To everyone’s surprise, they are in pristine condition—no molding pages, no rodents chewing away at the leather covers. Whatever magic was left in this place has preserved them.

He finds it fitting.

He’s uncertain if the tome he searches for is here, but he might as well look. He combs the bookshelves, reading faded title after faded title, ancient languages mixed with new.

Footfalls echo behind him.

“Solas?”

He turns. Josephine Montilyet—garbed in white and gold, a warm black cloak lying heavily around her shoulders—stands several paces away. She clasps her hands in front of her, a quizzical look on her face.  

“Ah, Ambassador,” Solas says, burying himself in a bookshelf. “Have you considered replacing the torches in this room? A library without light is hardly a library.”

“Yes,” Josephine replies. “There have been more important things to attend to than torches. Such as the roof over our heads. Or pots in the kitchen. Or kegs in the tavern.” She sniffs. “I do regret that one. I personally find the smell of ale rather unpleasant. It could have waited a month or two longer. But then Cabot would have thrown a fit and the Chargers would have rioted, and Sera would have no doubt found a way to blow the whole place up and we couldn’t have that.”

Solas chuckles. “No. That sounds distinctly unpleasant.” He pauses, scanning the spine of a book. Dwarven, by the looks of it. Not the right one. “I, too, do not care for the smell of ale. Give me a handsome wine and it will be a pleasant night.”

Josephine smiles. She pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “May I ask what you are doing here at this hour?”

“Searching for something non-existent,” he replies, moving on to the next bookshelf.

She follows. “And that would be?”

“A book of magic.”

“I’d imagine so. You are, after all, a mage. Magic is at the heart of your interests.”

“Not all my interests,” Solas says. “But for the moment, yes.”

“And what are your other interests, messere?” she asks.

He sighs, hand lingering on the shelf. He doesn’t want to be rude, but the interruption is not wholly welcome. But Josephine is far too kind, far too well-intentioned, he knows she must be here for a reason. And any question she asks, she asks out of genuine care. She has always expressed an interest in the people around her.

He appreciates that about her.

“Other than magic?” he says. “History. Storytelling. Music. Food. It has been said that a good cook has the heart of the entire village.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Josephine says lightly.

She touches his shoulder. He feels the warmth of her hand through his tunic. His eyes find hers and he opens his mouth, stumbling over his words before he can even say them—

“Would you join us for dinner?” she asks.

“I—beg your pardon?”

“We’re gathering for dinner,” Josephine explains. “The Inquisitor and I. We thought to invite the inner circle, but many of the others have other things to attend to tonight. We would—I would enjoy your company. Perhaps you could share a tale or two?”

Her hand lingers on his shoulder. Her touch is simple. So simple. And yet more complex than she can possibly no.

It has been…

He can’t remember how long it has been since someone has casually touched him on the shoulder. A gesture of friendship. Of care. Of kindness.

He’s grateful.

He silent. Words have escaped him. Josephine withdraws her hand, crestfallen. She adjusts her cloak. “If you would like to be alone, I would never think less of you for refusing,” she says. “Our privacy has infinite value—”

“I would be happy to join you and the Inquisitor for dinner,” Solas says. The words left him before he could think.

Josephine’s eyes light up. “Delightful!” She touches his shoulder again, a warm smile on her face. “We’ll dine in the Inquisitor’s quarters,” she continues, turning away and sweeping towards the stairs. Her cloak fans out behind her. She gestures as she speaks. It’s a habit he has never truly noticed before. “I hear she has a bottle of Antivan red Sister Adella saved from Haven…”

Solas extinguishes his veilfire and follows her, several paces behind. As he listens to Josephine’s animated words, he smiles at her laughter, at how rife she is with excitement. There is something refreshing about her simple desire to dine with company. Amongst all the magical atrocities they have witnessed or suffered together, there is something satisfying  _normal_  about her request.

He can still feel her touch on his shoulder.

They reach the base of the stairs and pass through the rotunda, exiting out into the main hall. From here, the sunset is spectacular. Golden light shines through the stained-glass windows at the end of the hall, creating pools of shimmering light on the stone floor. Josephine is ahead of him now, illuminated in light.

He comes to halt. Josephine turns to look at him, backlit and glowing gold. Her hair, swept high on her head, curls gently around her ears. Her golden dress flows smoothly around her waist. She looks, to put it simply… divine.  

He wonders if she’s been told how beautiful she is.

He wonders how much he would like to.

He curses himself for thinking that. Not his place. Not his time. She is simply a kind woman, extending her friendship to those she meets because that is who she is.

A friendship he shouldn’t have. He is here to help, to aid them, not to… There is a reason he has remained isolated. Alone. He cannot afford to create attachments to the people here. It is not his place.  

“Something the matter?” she asks gently.

“Yes,” Solas says. “I… I’m sorry, Lady Ambassador. I have remembered… There is something of grave importance I must attend to. Perhaps another night?”

“Oh.” She swallows, crestfallen. “Of course. Another night.”

“I would like a taste of that Antivan red,” Solas says. “Tell the Inquisitor to save some for me.”

She laughs. “I’ll make sure you have your taste one day. Good night, messere.”

Josephine bows her head and walks away, disappearing through the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

Solas watches her go. He regrets his decision immediately.

 _It is for the best,_ he tells himself.

He tells himself those words again. And then once more. And then once more. 


End file.
